


The Collector

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU tag to Season 9, Episode 16 "Blade Runners". Cuthbert Sinclair agrees to give Dean the First Blade in exchange for something of his: Sam. The eldest Winchester agrees and leaves Sam, taking the Blade with him.  Sam, however, isn't pleased to be a part of the ex-Man of Letters' collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Sam sat beside him on the fancy couch, saying nothing. Dean wanted to do the talking so he'd let him.

"Look, we don't want any trouble," the elder Winchester told Cuthbert Sinclair.

The ex-Man of Letters snorted derisively, "And killing my vampires isn't looking for trouble?"

Dean frowned, "Hey, man! They attacked us! What were we supposed to do?"

Cuthbert held up a hand, "Say no more. I understand."

Dean nodded, looking satisfied, "We need that Blade to kill a Knight of Hell. We're trying to protect a whole lot of people."

"As you've said," the ex-Man of Letters replied, "But I still don't see how that affects me."

Dean scowled, "If Abaddon wins, no one will be safe. Not even you, Mr. Sinclair."

The man did not look convinced, he sat back in his chair and glanced around the room smugly, "I've survived this long."

Dean sighed irritably. Sam glanced at him; "We can return the Blade to you, after we're done, if that's what you want."

Cuthbert shook his head, "That's not what I'm concerned with, boys. You can keep the First Blade for all I care when you're through. What I want, though, is compensation."

Both brothers frowned.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"The demons had it right: you can't get something for nothing," the man joked, "I am willing to trade you for the Blade. How does that sound? Once you have the Blade you can do with it what you like. You can turn it into a tacky trophy for all I care. But I want something in return."

"What do you mean, a trade?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Besides a few angel blades and the Colt and Ruby's knife, the Winchesters really didn't have anything special someone like Cuthbert Sinclair would want.

"Look around!" the man exclaimed, extending his arms dramatically, "I'm a collector! I surround myself with rare and unique objects… antiquities… and creatures."

Dean smirked, "I wouldn't call vampires rare or unique. But hey, whatever floats your boat."

Cuthbert glared at the older Winchester for a moment before his expression once again turned arrogant.

"What do you want?" Sam asked before Dean could say anything else that was likely to get them kicked out without the First Blade.

The ex-Man of Letters turned his gaze on Sam and smiled, "You."

Sam opened his mouth in shock.

"Excuse me?" he asked brusquely.

"I want you to stay here," Cuthbert said, "With me. And your brother can have the Blade."

"NO!" Sam exclaimed and stood up.

Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him back down to the couch, "Sam, calm down."

Sam glared at his brother, "Did you even hear what he just said?!"

Dean nodded, "I did. But we need the First Blade."

Sam gaped at Dean in shock, "You… you can't be considering this, can you? He's insane!"

Dean's hazel eyes darkened, "But we need the Blade."

"I… I can't believe you, Dean!" Sam cried and stood, stepped around to the back of the couch and ran his hands through his hair.

He looked over at Cuthbert.

"Why? Why me? We have weapons that we could give you," he told the man.

"You are unique, Sam Winchester. There is no one else like you in the world. Demon blood runs through your veins and yet you have been the vessel the brightest angel. No one else can boast that."

Sam frowned, "No. No way. We'll give you anything else."

Cuthbert shook his head and sighed, "It is not only that you are so one-of-a-kind that intrigues me, Sam. It is very lonely here, surrounded by inanimate objects and monsters. I wish for a companion that is as articulate and well-read as I and you are that as well."

Dean looked up at Sam, "See, he likes you."

Sam glared daggers at him, "Shut the fuck up."

Dean's eyes widened and he smirked. Why was he smirking? This was anything but funny.

Dean turned around to face the ex-Man of Letters. He sighed and rubbed his hands together for a moment, thinking.

"Okay," the older brother said, "We'll do it."

"What?! No! What are you doing?" Sam exclaimed and Dean stood, turning to face him.

"Sam, I'm thinking about all those people out there who are going to die if we don't stop Abaddon. I'm thinking about the greater good."

Sam shook his head, "You can't, Dean. I refuse. I'm coming with you."

Dean reached out and gripped Sam's shoulders, looking him in the eye; whispering so that Cuthbert wouldn't hear.

"I'm going to come back for you, Sammy. I promise."

Sam pulled away from his brother and looked from Dean to Cuthbert and back again.

"I am not staying here."

"Yes, you are Sam," Dean said, "It's the only way."

"You can't make this kind of decision!" Sam cried.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't think he could feel more betrayed. Even finding out about Gadreel paled to this. He was being sold. Sold! By his own brother!

Dean and Cuthbert walked over to where the First Blade was sitting on display, ignoring Sam's turmoil.

The ex-Man of Letters lifted the jawbone down from its stand and handed it to Dean without a second glance.

"Dean," Sam said and his brother looked up at him as he tucked the Blade into his jacket, "Don't do this."

Dean looked away from him and he and Cuthbert began walking toward the wall where the door had been.

Sam followed close behind the two because there was no fucking way he was going to be that man's pet for even ten minutes. He was leaving with Dean.

The ex-Man of Letters stopped Dean with a hand on his shoulder.

Sam waited warily; ready to fight his way out if need be and-

Dean suddenly vanished in a puff of purple smoke, vanishing from the room.

SPN

Crowley looked up as Dean appeared out of thin air in the middle of the clearing.

Alone.

"Where's Moose?" he asked, smirking. He slid off the hood of the Impala where he'd been lounging, waiting.

"Let's go," Dean replied bluntly

Crowley raised an eyebrow, "I'd have thought he'd be right behind you, Squirrel. You two are practically joined at the hip."

"I said let's go," Dean snapped and unlocked the driver's side door of the Impala.

"You left him!" Crowley crowed.

Dean stared at the King of Hell over the top of the classic Chevy.

"We didn't have a choice," he explained, "Sinclair wouldn't have given us the Blade otherwise."

Crowley was impressed. He was certain Dean would never let Sam out of his sight.

"He's safe though," Dean continued, sounding as though he was speaking more to himself, trying to justify his actions, "I don't think Sinclair is going to hurt him."

Crowley couldn't help but keep prodding at Dean.

"And was this a mutual agreement?" he asked, "Or did you make that decision all by yourself?"

"I'm coming back for him!" Dean snapped and climbed into the driver's seat, slamming the door.

Crowley opened the passenger's door and sat.

"Once we kill this bitch we are coming back and getting Sam," Dean said and put the key in the engine.

"I'm coming back for him," he muttered to himself, thinking Crowley couldn't hear him.

The demon said nothing else. He was sure that if Sam wasn't pissed enough at his brother now, he'd be even more so when Dean showed up after he killed Abbadon.

SPN

"DEAN!" Sam shouted and slammed his fists against the wall.

He glanced over his shoulder at Cuthbert who stood watching him.

"Let me out! Let me out of here! You can't keep me in here!"

The ex-Man of Letters nodded, "Of course, Sam. You're not a prisoner."

He waved a hand lazily and the door reappeared before Sam.

The young man threw open the door and stepped out into the hallway.

"Let me go," he growled, "I want out."

"Your brother made a trade," Cuthbert replied calmly, "You are mine now. You can't leave unless I allow it."

Sam's hands clenched into fists. He stalked up to Cuthbert and glared at him, "Let me out. Now."

"I am not one of the monsters you hunt, Sam," the man said, "I simply want a human companion. Someone to talk to. Is that so wrong?"

"It is when I didn't agree to this!" Sam shouted.

Cuthbert didn't seem at all troubled by the young man's anger. Instead he turned away from Sam, walked back into the parlour and poured himself a glass of whisky from a cut glass decanter sitting on a cherry wood sideboard.

"Drink?" Cuthbert asked, holding the decanter up so that Sam could see the amber liquid inside.

"Fuck you," Sam replied and left the room.

If he was trapped in this fun house until Dean returned- if he could- he was not going to be spending all his time with Sinclair.

Despite the ex-Man of Letter's assurances that there was no escape, Sam couldn't help but look for a way out.

The hunter walked slowly down the hallway, opening up every door he came to in the hope that it would lead outside.

There wasn't one.

Sam found a restaurant-sized kitchen, a room filled with a myriad of paintings, and a corridor with over a dozen different styles of swords and daggers hanging on the walls.

Sam pulled open yet another door and a gust of warm air swept over him. There was a staircase descending down from the doorway and there was a distinct barnyard smell in the air.

This must be where Sinclair keeps his pets.

Sam walked down the stairs slowly. He could hear the creatures Sinclair kept down here, growls and squeals and hisses filled the warm air.

Once the hunter stepped off the lowest stair and looked around, he gaped.

Row upon row of cages greeted him- some made of metal bars while others were glass- all likely fortified with some sort of spell to prevent the monsters from escaping.

Sam walked to the closest cage. It was glass and taller than him. It looked like a terrarium for a snake or some other reptile with a dirt floor, a large log and child-sized swimming pool filled with water. The creature inside looked to Sam like a large pile of snot. It had no discernable shape and was an unpleasant greyish-green colour. Sam glanced up and saw a small silver plaque near the top of the cage read simply 'Blob'. He stared at the creature for a moment longer but when it didn't react to his presence in anyway, he moved on.

Sam couldn't help but be amazed at Sinclair's collection. Some of the creatures were familiar but others were ones Sam had only read about. Cuthbert's zoo contained a harpy, a manticore, a drake, a nymph, and many others Sam had never actually seen in real life.

The creature in the last cage made the young man's eyes widen in shock. This was definitely something he'd never thought existed outside of legend.

The creature had a narrow, deer-like head, a tangled mane, a lion's tail and the cloven hooves of a goat. Sam glanced at the plaque to make sure he was correct. Yes, this was a unicorn.

The creature was bright white, its hooves the same pink as the inside of a seashell and it had large, dark, soulful eyes. It was more than just a horse with a horn. Sam had read The Last Unicorn when he was younger- despite Dean's teasing that it was a 'girl's book'- and thought that the author had gotten the description of the creature almost spot on. The only thing missing was its horn.

Sam recalled that the horn of a unicorn- or alicorn- was believed to have magical or medicinal properties.

The young man stepped right up to the bars of the cage and slipped his hand through. The unicorn approached him slowly, its head bowed.

Sam laid his hand palm-down on the creature's brow and almost gasped. He had never felt anything so soft- nor did he think he ever would again- as the fur of the unicorn. A sense of calm, of serenity washed through Sam and all his anger and fear and frustration seemed to melt away.

He carefully brushed the unicorn's forelock away and revealed the stump that was all that was left of the creature's horn. Sam wondered if Sinclair had the alicorn among his collection.

"I see you've found my unicorn," Cuthbert's voice said from behind Sam and the younger man turned in surprise, drawing his hand from the cage.

"She is beautiful, isn't she?" the man asked and walked up to the creature, his gaze admiring.

"Am I going to end up in one of these cages too? Just another member of your menagerie?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Cuthbert looked insulted, "Goodness no! What kind of host would I be if I forced my guest to languish in a place like this?"

Sam didn't reply.

"I was just thinking," Sinclair continued, "I have the most wonderful library, if you'd like to see it, Sam."

The hunter shook his head, "I'll pass."

"Are you sure?" Cuthbert wheedled, "You look like a man who enjoys reading."

"You are not going to make me like you," Sam told him, "We are never going to be friends."

The ex-Man of Letters shrugged, "I understand that right now you are upset, but in time you'll come around. I am sure of it."

Sam scowled, "Never."

"I am willing to wait," Cuthbert insisted, "It may take years but you will eventually see me as your friend. Besides, other than you, and myself there are no other people here. I'd imagine you will become very lonely before long if you continue to distance yourself from me."

"See just how long I'll make you wait," Sam challenged, "Hell will freeze over before I become your 'companion'.

With that, Sam turned away from the man and began walking back the way he had come.

The man was a lunatic. Why would he think Sam would like him? He wasn't here by choice. The man was practically holding him prisoner and no amount of bribing would change that.


	2. Chapter Two

Sam was safe.

That was all that mattered.

Dean was sure his brother would be alright with Sinclair.

The man might have been an asshole and a weirdo but Dean didn't think he'd actually hurt Sam.

Now all he had to do was kill Abaddon.

Easier said than done.

"What do you mean you don't know where she is?" Dean asked Crowley irritably.

The demon looked just as annoyed as the hunter felt, "I may be the King of Hell but unfortunately Abaddon doesn't Tweet about where she's going to be. I just don't have those kinds of connections anymore. They all deferred to that bitch."

"Great," Dean grumbled, "What are we going to do now?"

Crowley glanced at him.

"Me? I'm going to find Abaddon," the demon said, "And you're going to wait patiently until I do."

Dean frowned, "What are you talking ab- Hey!"

The hunter's eyes widened when Crowley held up the First Blade. How had he managed to get the thing out from inside Dean's jacket?

"Give that to me!" Dean snarled, taking one hand off the wheel to snatch at the demon.

"Not until its time," Crowley chided and vanished.

Dean slammed on the brakes, the Impala screeching to a halt.

"CROWLEY!"

SPN

Sam didn't hear Cuthbert following him as he made his way up the staircase. He knew that meant nothing, the man could appear and disappear at will- like a demon or angel- but the absence of footsteps coming from behind made Sam feel better.

He reached the top of the staircase and glanced around, wondered where he should go next. Deciding that it didn't matter much, Sam settled into aimless wandering, once again opening and closing doors that did not lead to freedom.

W

Sam looked up and found himself in the Hall of Knives. He glanced at them, silver and shining and deadly. Everything from katanas to cutlasses and everything in between hung on the walls. There were daggers will jewel-encrusted handles and scythes.

Sam knew that sooner rather then later Cuthbert was going to find him and instead of pointless arguing with the man, the hunter had a different idea. One that Dean would like.

Reaching up, Sam took a small, thin blade from the wall and slipped it into his jacket pocket. Perhaps he could convince Cuthbert to let him go through force.

Sam left the hallway and headed back to the sitting room he and Dean had first been taken to. The ex-Man of Letters was nowhere to be seen so Sam took a seat on the lavishly embroidered couch to wait.

SPN

Dean stormed into the bunker.

He couldn't believe Crowley had just vanished on him! And with the First Blade no less!

Dean knew he shouldn't be surprised. He knew the demon was a backstabbing S.O.B. but really, didn't Crowley want Abaddon as dead as Dean did?

The hunter pulled out of the chairs along the long table at the bottom of the stairs and sat. Strewn across the tabletop were books Sam had been looked through before they had left to find Magnus- AKA Cuthbert Sinclair- and hadn't had time to put back in their proper place.

Dean shoved the volumes away, causing them to fall onto the floor with a clatter.

Leaning forward, the hunter gripped his short hair with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do now?

SPN

Sam looked up when Cuthbert walked into the room.

"Finally decided to have a civilized conversation?" the man asked haughtily.

Sam stood and moved quickly around the couch, approaching Cuthbert in one swift motion. He grabbed the shoulder of the man's shirt tightly in one hand while the other pressed the blade of the dagger against his captor's neck- not hard enough to draw blood but enough to prevent him from squirming away.

Sinclair however, couldn't have looked the least bit concerned.

Sam towered over the shorter man, using his height to his advantage. He could be intimidating if he needed to be.

"I've had enough," he growled dangerously, "Let me go or I will kill you."

Sinclair peered up at Sam, completely unperturbed.

"I don't want to hurt you," the man warned, speaking calmly as though he were commenting on the weather, "But I will if you threaten me."

The young man did not back down. He pressed the blade against Cuthbert's neck, drawing blood.

"Let. Me. Guh-" Sam's threat was cut short when Cuthbert reached up and laid a hand on his temple, causing sharp pain to erupt in the younger man's head.

Sam dropped the dagger and grabbed his head in his hands, staggering back.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Sam," Sinclair said sadly, "But you gave me no choice."

The hunter fell to his knees, the pain unbearable.

Cuthbert approached Sam, "Perhaps now would be the appropriate time to show you to your room."

The ex-Man of Letters bent down and grabbed Sam's hair while he was still incapacitated and the two of them vanished from the sitting room.

W

Sam sprawled on the carpeted floor. His head still ached though not as badly as before. He peered up at Sinclair, glaring at the man through watery eyes.

"I'm sorry that I had to hurt you, Sam," the man told him, sounding sincere, "I do not wish to repeat this."

"Screw you," Sam growled.

Cuthbert sighed, "I will return in the morning. You should get some rest."

With that, the magician disappeared.

Sam sat up, brushing his bangs away from his brow and peered around the room. It looked like a really fancy hotel suite. The room he was currently in had a dark green carpet, a green couch and two matching armchairs. There was also a fireplace- cold- and a portrait of an English foxhunt on the wall. The walls themselves were covered in chestnut paneling about halfway up their length; the upper half was coated in beige wallpaper. Along one wall was a tall bookcase filled with dozens of old tomes.

Sam grabbed the arm of one of the chairs and pulled himself up. The pain in his head had almost vanished completely, now only a dull throb.

Through an open doorway Sam could see a huge four-poster bed with a sand-coloured duvet covering it.

Sam turned around and saw no other door. Once again he was in a room he could not escape from.

"Damn it!" he swore and sat down in one of the chairs.

The only sound in the room was his own breathing and the ticking of the clock sitting on the mantle place. It's ornate hands told Sam that it was only early evening. He had been trapped in the house for only a couple of hours.

He wondered how many more hours would pass before Dean came back to get him.

SPN

Dean glanced at his watch and saw that it was the middle of the night. He had been sitting at the table for hours!

Sighing, Dean stood slowly- his muscles ached from remaining stationary for so long- and headed down the hallway that led to his bedroom.

Out of habit, he found himself not walking towards his room but Sam's, which was on the other side of the bunker. Dean however, didn't change direction. His brother didn't know it but if Dean found himself awake longer than Sam; he would walk down to his and crack the door open to check on his sleeping sibling. After spending so many years sharing the same motel room and being able to hear if Sam was having a nightmare or was awake in the night- thinking or whatever else it was he did when he wasn't sleeping- Dean always felt the need to make sure Sam was alright.

Even though he knew Sam was not in his room, Dean opened the door anyway. He looked at the neatly made-up bed and the duffel bag- that hadn't been unpacked, even now- and the bare walls and sighed.

On a whim, Dean pulled his cell phone out and hit Sam's number on Speed Dial. His brother's phone didn't even ring; a female voice came over the line telling Dean that the customer he was trying to reach was unavailable.

Sadly, Dean put his phone away and walked slowly down to his own bedroom. Even though he knew Sam was safe he still missed his brother.

He wished Sam were with him now to help him figure out what to do next.

He's safe. That's all that matters.

There no way in Hell Abaddon could get her manicured hands on Sam with him hidden at Sinclair's invisible mansion.

Dean stepped into his room with his messy bed, his dirty clothes thrown haphazardly into one corner and the few pictures he'd tacked to the wall.

Deciding that he didn't want to sleep after all. Dean turned around and wandered down to the library to see if he could find anything more on Abaddon or the Knights of Hell.

SPN

Sam startled awake when he instinctively noticed a presence in the room with him. He sat up in the chair he had fallen asleep in and saw Sinclair standing a few feet away from him, holding a silver tray.

"What do you want?" Sam asked irritably.

"I thought you might like some breakfast," the man answered and he lowered the tray.

Sam glanced at the plate for a moment.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Eggs Benedict," Sinclair answered, "And toast. And tea and orange juice. What were you expecting? Gruel? I am not a barbarian, Sam."

"I'm not hungry," Sam told the man.

Sinclair ignored him and set the tray down on the coffee table. Sam noticed the man had a small cut on the side of his neck from the night before; it looked as though he had nicked himself shaving but Sam knew better.

"I thought that we could start over," Cuthbert said and held out a hand.

Sam glared at him and said nothing.

Sinclair frowned and lowered his hand.

"I know that this is difficult for you to accept, Sam," the ex-Man of Letters said, "And I know that you may need some time to acclimatize to your new position, but I am unused to people denying me."

Sam still remained silent.

"Although I can be very patient," Sinclair continued, "I've been said to have quite a temper."

Sam smiled. Cuthbert wanted to talk about tempers? Well, Sam had one as well.

"I have not mistreated you, Sam," Sinclair said, "I have given you free rein of my home, offered you both food and drink. I only ask that you and I talk as friends."

"Yesterday I was lenient because I understood your distress," Cuthbert went on, "But I will not abide your antagonistic behaviour."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You won't scare me," Sam told the man, "I've been through Hell. There isn't much that frightens me anymore."

"I am not attempting to scare you," Sinclair replied, "I am simply telling you that I will not tolerate your attitude. Your brother left you here to be my companion and that is what you will be."

Sam sneered.

"I will give you a choice, Sam," Cuthbert said, "You will either be my companion of your own free will or I will compel you to be."

"Are you threatening me?" Sam asked.

So it wasn't okay for Sam to threaten Sinclair but it was perfectly fine for the man to do threaten him?

"Please do not make me hurt you, Sam."

There really was no decision. Sam was not going to do what Cuthbert wanted. He had had enough of being a puppet in the past. He was not going to do that again. For anyone.

"No," Sam growled, "Get the fuck out of here."

Sinclair sighed, "I wish you had chosen wisely, Sam."

SPN

Dean pulled his cell phone out and dialed Crowley's number.

"Where the fuck are you?" Dean growled as he sat in the Impala, facing Milton, Illinois' police station.

"There's some crazy shit going down here that seems right up Abaddon's alley," Dean continued, "Call me when you get this message."

The hunter sighed and closed his phone. Something very strange was happening to the people in this town. The night before, a young kid had freaked out and attacked a waitress at a local diner. Luckily Dean had been there and stopped the teen before he could do any more damage.

It had been fucking weird. The kid had seemed fine- a little moody maybe, but what teenager wasn't- before completely snapping on the poor girl at the counter and stabbing her in the hand with a knife.

Pretending to be FBI, Dean had followed up on the kid's interview at the local PD, finding the teen to have seemingly no remorse whatsoever for the injury he'd caused the waitress.

Now, sitting in the Impala, Dean frowned. He was sure he had seen that kind of behaviour somewhere before.

If Sam were here he'd know, Dean thought.

Sam…

Holy shit! That was it!

Dean sat straight up, eyes wide.

That kid had been acting just like Sam had when he'd been soulless! That total lack of guilt, becoming unnecessarily violent, that inability for self-control all pointed toward one thing. That kid- and those other saps stuck in jail for completely losing it- had no soul.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, "But why?"

It couldn't be easy to rip someone's soul out of them and besides that, what would be the point? Just to create chaos? No, Abaddon seemed smarter than that.

Dean climbed out of the Chevy and headed back to into the station, he needed to talk to that kid again.


	3. Chapter Three

Sam backed away as Sinclair stepped forward.

"Don't come near me," Sam warned, raising his hands and curling them into fists, "Don't touch me."

Cuthbert said nothing, simply continued to approach Sam, a sad expression on his face.

"I wish I didn't have to do this, Sam," he said as though he truly meant it, "I do not want to hurt you."

Sam tried to keep as much distance from between him and the magician as possible. He startled when his back hit a wall. The door leading to the bedroom was not there. He was trapped in the parlour with Sinclair!

The man stopped in front of the hunter, invading his personal space.

"Get away from me," Sam snarled.

Sinclair lifted a hand and Sam batted it away, "Don't touch me!"

The magician frowned and he darted forward, quick as a snake and reached up to press his fingers against Sam's brow.

The young hunter gasped as the room and everything in it dissolved and pain drew its barbed cloak over him.

SPN

Dean swore when Crowley's voicemail came on.

"Where the hell are you? What are you doing?" Dean growled, "I found some of Abaddon's followers messing with some poor saps in Illinois. Don't worry, I stopped them."

Dean had been questioning an officer at the Milton Police Department, trying to find out exactly where Abaddon's lackeys were hiding, when an old woman- actually an ex-nun named Julia Wilkinson- told him about the odd even that had occurred years ago at a local church. Julie told Dean about the demonic possession that had led his grandfather, Henry Winchester, and Josie Sands to the small town.

Only hearing the former nun's words made Dean want to kill that Knight of Hell even more, after what she had done to that poor woman, Josie.

Dean had found where Abaddon's cronies were- the old abandoned church in fact- and had released the stolen souls after killing the demons responsible.

It seemed that the self-proclaimed Queen of Hell was too impatient to wait for souls to be ferried Downstairs to become demons and had decided to simply speed up the process, ripping the souls from unsuspecting civilians to bolster her armies numbers.

"Dammit Crowley!" Dean closed his phone and shoved it into his pocket.

Sighing, he wiped a hand over his face and decided to head back to the Bunker. He hoped that the demon king would find Abaddon soon so that he could stab that bitch in the throat.

He wished Sam were with him. Sam would know what to do now. He wanted to talk to his brother.

No, Sam was safe. Abaddon couldn't get to Sam where he was and that was the important thing.

Deciding that the only thing to do was to go back to the Bunker until he caught wind of another sign of Abaddon, Dean pointed the Impala towards Kansas.

SPN

There was nothing but pain.

Nothing else existed.

The pain was bone deep, soul deep.

And it was unending.

Wave after wave of agony crashed into Sam but there was nothing to cling to, no surface to break through, no pause in the relentless tide.

Memory slipped away as pain tore into Sam. He didn't know where he was or even who he was. He was nowhere. He was nothing. He was no one…

W

Sam almost didn't realize when the pain stopped. It released him reluctantly, slowly. Its echo still rang in his skull, raced along every nerve.

His eyes, hot and sticky with tears, slipped open, his face pressed into a hunter green carpet.

It took a long moment for Sam to remember where he was and what had just happened.

He didn't move- didn't dare- but rolled his eyes upwards and saw Cuthbert Sinclair peering down at him.

Sam's limbs trembled like Jell-O, weak. His chest rose and fell in panting breaths, his mouth tasted like bile.

"I'm sorry I had to do that to you, Sam," Cuthbert was saying from above the young man, "But you gave me no choice."

Sam closed his eyes- they throbbed in their sockets- because he had heard this before. Yes, he was familiar with the words Sinclair was speaking over him because he had been told them before. That it was his fault he was getting hurt, that if he had only listened, he wouldn't be in this pain.

Lucifer had often said the very same thing Cuthbert was saying now, when Sam had begged for him to stop. If Sam hadn't fought back and taken them both into the Cage then he wouldn't have to be tortured, punished.

Cuthbert crouched down near Sam's head.

"Will you stop fighting me now?" the magician asked.

Sam didn't trust himself to speak but his expression hardened in response to the man's question, his eyes like shards of glass.

Cuthbert seemed to understand and sighed.

"I was hoping that you wouldn't do this, Sam," he said in a this-hurts-me-more-than-it-hurts-you kind of tone and reached down with one hand.

SPN

Dean sat with his head in his hands. He needed to find Abaddon. He just had to!

But he had no more clues to go on and Crowley sure as hell wasn't any help.

Standing, he traveled from the main room, with its long oaken tables and green glass banker's lamps, to the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, Dean contemplated eating the last piece of pie still sitting in its aluminum plate from days ago but decided on a beer instead.

Twisting the cap off and tossing it into the trashcan, Dean took a long drink, finishing half of the beer in a series of uninterrupted swallows.

"Where are you, bitch?" he asked out loud, as though Abaddon might call his cell phone and let him in on her latest plans.

Sighing, Dean lifted his free hand and rubbed above his eyebrows.

He was exhausted. He knew he should get some sleep but his desire to find the Knight was stronger. Making his way back to the main room, Dean grabbed Sam's computer from where it sat on one of the long tables and opened it, beginning to search for signs of demonic activity in online newspapers.

SPN

"Sam? Sam? Can you hear me?"

Someone was calling his name.

Was it Dean?

"Sam?"

He felt a touch on his shoulder and he leaned into the hand because his brother was here now and everything was going to be okay, Dean would make the pain go away.

Sam opened his eyes but it wasn't his brother's face peering concernedly down at him.

It was Cuthbert.

Sam snarled and twitched away from the man's hand.

He scrabbled for purchase against the short, dark carpet, succeeding only in raising himself up on his elbows.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Sinclair apologized, looking truly worried.

"Get away from me," Sam tried to say but his voice came out barely a whisper, scratchy and weak as he felt.

Tears filled Sam's eyes unbidden. Dean wasn't here. Of course he wasn't. He'd left Sam. Sold him to Cuthbert for the First Blade.

Oh, Dean had said he'd come back but Sam wasn't sure he believed that. Killing Abaddon seemed far more important to his brother.

"Let me help you up," Cuthbert offered and reached out.

Sam snarled, letting the man know he didn't want to be touched. Not by him.

The magician sat back.

"I told you," Sam told him in a raspy voice, "Nothing you do will make me be friendly to you. We are not friends and never will be. Not if I'm here for a hundred years."

Cuthbert nodded, "I know, Sam. I suppose that means I must try harder."

Sam's eyes narrowed as the man reached out again and this time he couldn't dodge the hand as it came to rest on his head.

W

This pain was different.

It wasn't random, directionless.

No, it had a very clear purpose, a renewed intention.

To break him.

Memories, ones he had thought were gone, erupted in his mind to torment again.

Sam twisted away but he could not escape their pull.

...Lucifer grinned down at him, knife in hand, ready to cut…

…The stench of burnt hair and flesh filled air that already stank of sulfur; Sam writhed in agony as he burned, flames licking hungrily at his clothes…

…Sam's cries of pain fell on deaf ears as the fallen angel flayed him, blood dripping onto the floor as skin was peeled away from flesh and bone…

…Adam. Where was Adam? He was alone. So alone. Where was his brother? Was he alright? Was he hurt? Would Sam ever see him again? He had been right there! Right there with him! And now he was gone. And Sam was alone…

…Dean grinned nastily as he battered Sam with nothing more than his fists. Sam raised his hands to shield his face but it was useless. Dean didn't stop. Didn't heed his cries of pain and fear. Sam was a burden. If Sam hadn't been born everything would be fine. Their mother would never have died. It was Sam's fault. It was all his fault…

….Jess. It seemed as though she was the only good thing in this place. But no, even she had been tainted. She smiled at Sam, told Sam she loved him. But it wasn't Jessica's eyes looking at him, no, they were Lucifer's…

Sam cried, begged the awful memories to go away. But they kept coming, more and more, unending…

…Lucifer laid a hand against Sam's cheek and the intimate gesture made the young man's skin crawl. You are mine, the fallen angel said, mine…

…Sam couldn't breathe. Blood bubbled up his throat and dripped down his chin. He bowed his head, his breath gurgling horribly as he coughed, crimson spots dripping from pale lips…

…Cold. He was so cold. Sam shivered uncontrollably. His teeth chattered hard enough to crack. He didn't even remember what being warm felt like. Snow plastered his hair to his head, his clothes to his frail body. Ice was chilly and slick beneath his frozen feet, threatening to send him tumbling down at any moment…

… Sam gasped as the meat hook pierced through his back. Groaning in pain, Sam closed his eyes, his feet dangling inches above the ground…

…Sam wrapped an arm across his abdomen, groaning in pain. Blood seeped through his sleeve, hot and sticky. He pressed down harder, gasping in agony. He heard laughter from somewhere off to his left. He struggled to stand but couldn't muster the energy. The gaping wound in his stomach was spilling all his strength out along with precious blood. Sam's arm shook and he sank to the ground, his hand slipping from his belly…

There was no escape. He knew that now. He would be forced to remember the Cage for the rest of his days.

But no!

He couldn't he couldn't please please no not again he couldn't take it anymore he cried he begged he sobbed he was out he was free he wasn't there anymore Dean had got him out Dean had got him out

SPN

Cuthbert Sinclair stared down at the young man writhing on the floor at his feet.

He hadn't wanted to do it but Sam Winchester had given him no choice.

He hadn't wanted to hurt the young man, to dig deeper until he'd found memories- terrible memories- locked away so that not even Sam knew they were there.

The magician witnessed the exact moment when Sam snapped.

The young man, who had been thrashing and crying, suddenly fell limp and still on the carpet.

Cuthbert thought that he had gone to far and that Sam was dead. But then he saw the rise and fall of the young man's chest and he relaxed.

Kneeling down at Sam's side, he brushed the hunter's bangs away from his brow.

"Sam," he asked, "Can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me."

Thankfully, the young man did as he was asked and bloodshot, swollen green eyes opened and focused instantly on Cuthbert's face. He hadn't done irreparable damage to the hunter, then.

"How are you feeling?" the magician asked humourlessly; he did not want to have to hurt the young man like that again.

Sam closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing thickly before he answered.

"Please…" he whispered, his voice a barely audible rasp, "Don't make me go through that again."

Cuthbert kept his expression neutral but inside he felt hope that he'd finally gotten through to the young man.

"Will you agree to my wishes now?" he asked.

Sam closed his eyes again and appeared to be thinking- at least that was what Cuthbert assumed- before he nodded once without looking at him.

Sinclair couldn't help the smile that broke through. He had won. He had made Sam see that things would be better now that he was willing to do as he'd asked.

The magician stood.

"You should get some sleep," he told Sam, "I will return in a few hours with some food."

The young man did not react but Cuthbert didn't mind. The hunter was clearly exhausted, both mentally and physically and needed time to recuperate.

Cuthbert disappeared from Sam's quarters and returned to his sitting room.

He felt happier than he had in many, many years. He finally had a companion worth engaging with. As long as Sam remained amicable, Sinclair saw no reason to harm to young man. Friends did not hurt friends, after all. And despite the rocky start, Cuthbert was certain he'd made his desire clear and there would not be a relapse.

Making his way to the sideboard, Cuthbert poured himself a drink and held the crystal glass high in a silent toast.


	4. Chapter Four

Sam didn't move for a long time. He didn't dare.

He felt as though he would shatter into a thousand pieces if he so much as twitched a finger.

He stared sightlessly at the stark white ceiling overhead.

Sam couldn't believe he'd let Sinclair win. He couldn't believe he'd allowed the bastard to find a chink in his armour.

Sam thought he'd gotten past what had happened to him in the Cage; thought Castiel had taken the memories from him when he had been dying.

He thought wrong apparently.

The memories were still there, buried, locked away like Pandora's box.

And like Pandora's box, once opened, the memories poured out into his unsuspecting mind.

Sam turned onto his side and curled up into the fetal position. He squeezed his eyes shut and used all the energy he could muster- which wasn't very much- to force the horrible memories of torture and humiliation back.

W

The young man climbed to his feet slowly, cautiously. His knees shook, threatening to collapse under his own weight and he reached out to grab hold of the back of a chair, should his legs betray him.

Sam shoved his bangs away from his eyes, his hair damp with sweat, and shuffled towards the bedroom; the door must have appeared once again after Cuthbert's retreat.

The idea of playing the magician's game was abhorrent to Sam but he felt fear well up in his breast every time he thought about what Cuthbert had done to him.

Sam knew he couldn't go through that again.

Reluctantly, Sam was resigned to do what Cuthbert wanted him to, if only to prevent the magician from hurting him.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes unbidden; he was so weak.

Ducking his head, the young man wiped at his swollen eyes and sucked in a shuddery breath.

He felt like a failure.

Hell should hold no horror for him now.

But it did and the terror it raised when Sam thought of it made his mouth go dry and his heart flutter like a frightened bird.

Sam made his way to the large bed and sat down on the edge. Clasping his trembling hands before him, Sam bowed his head and closed his eyes.

He wasn't praying, no, Sam had stopped doing that a long time ago.

He was simply steeling himself for whatever was to come next.

He would need all the strength he had to face Cuthbert again.

SPN

Sinclair let himself into Sam's quarters silently, hoping that the young man had taken his advice and gotten some rest.

He was pleased to find that the hunter was no longer in the parlour. He had worried slightly that he had seriously shaken the young man but it appeared that Sam was recovering quickly.

Turning to the open bedroom doorway, Cuthbert saw Sam sprawled out on the large four-poster, lying sideways across the covers.

With no regard for privacy, the magician walked boldly into the room and stopped beside the bed.

"Sam!" Cuthbert called, rocking back and forth, trying to contain his excitement.

The young man's eyes snapped open instantly and he glared at the magician.

Cuthbert chose to ignore the expression and instead announced that it was time for dinner.

"You've slept almost all day," Cuthbert informed the young man, "You must be starving."

Sam sat up and his bangs fell in front of his eyes. He shoved them away irritably.

"I hope you had a good rest," Cuthbert told Sam because that's what friends did.

The young man continued to glare at him for a moment before sighing, "Yeah."

"Excellent," the magician said happily, "Come, before dinner gets cold."

Cuthbert reached out- it would be much faster to just transport the two of them to the dining room than to walk there- and although Sam flinched, he did not push the man's hand from his arm.

W

The dining room was large, with a long, wooden table stained a deep coffee colour; a red table runner stretched the length of it.

There were two place settings- one at the head of the table where Cuthbert usually sat and one on his right side for Sam- with fine china dishes and silver cutlery.

The young man followed Cuthbert as the magician walked along the length of the table and gestured for him to take a seat.

Waiting until his guest was sitting, Cuthbert took his own seat and picked up his cloth napkin, tucking it into the collar of his shirt.

Clearing his throat, the magician looked at Sam. The young man rolled his eyes and grabbed his own serviette, shoving one corner of it down the front of his shirt.

Cuthbert smiled at Sam but the young man did not return the gesture.

SPN

Sam wished Cuthbert hadn't dragged him into the dining room. He'd rather be left alone then be forced to have a meal with the man. He had thought Cuthbert was going to bring the food to him but guessed the magician had changed his mind. After all, he wasn't a prisoner, he was supposed to be Cuthbert's companion and Sam guessed friends didn't keep friends locked up in the guest bedroom.

"Would you like something to drink?" Cuthbert asked pleasantly.

Sam shrugged. He was still exhausted and his eyes throbbed from all the crying he'd done earlier in the day.

Sam looked up when another person entered the room, an elderly man wearing a waiter's outfit, holding a tray with a bottle of wine on it.

"My shapeshifter," Cuthbert told Sam proudly.

The hunter watched as the creature approached. He looked just about as happy to be here as Sam did.

"Wine, Mr. Sinclair?" the waiter- shapeshifter- asked in a thin, reedy voice.

"Yes," Cuthbert answered before looking at Sam.

"You?"

Sam's nose wrinkled. The last time he'd drank wine was when he'd been with Amelia.

"No," Sam replied.

"I have beer as well," Cuthbert offered, "If you'd prefer."

Sam wouldn't prefer beer. He didn't want any alcohol. Though not a lightweight, he didn't want his judgment compromised even slightly.

"Water," Sam said and Cuthber shrugged, turning to address the shifter.

The waiter left the dining room, his bottle of wine now sitting on the table before the ex-Man of Letters.

Cuthbert raised his glass and peered at the plum-coloured liquid. He brought the rim of the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, savouring the scent before taking a delicate sip.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" he asked Sam, eyebrow raised, "It's good."

"I said no!" Sam growled.

He'd play along with Cuthbert's game, be the man's pet hunter if he wanted, but only to a certain extent.

Just because Sam had agreed to stop fighting him, didn't mean he was going to act like they were best buddies.

Cuthbert frowned at Sam but the young man did not flinch. The man tapped his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, as though reminding Sam what he could do to him, before he spoke:

"A simple 'no thank you' would have sufficed."

The shifter-waiter entered the room again, turning both Sam and Cuthbert's attention away from each other.

The creature set a glass of water in front of Sam's plate and the young man could see condensation beading the outside of the cup.

"I think we're ready for the first course," Cuthbert told the shapeshifter and the creature nodded, turning and leaving the room.

Sam picked up his glass of water and took a long drink, pointedly not looking at the magician.

"Tell me about yourself," Cuthbert said, startling the young man.

Sam sat the glass down and eyed the man.

"Why?" he asked, "I thought you knew everything about me, that's why you wanted me to stay here."

The ex-Man of Letters chuckled, "Not everything, young man. I am only familiar with your… exploits, shall we say? And, of course, exactly what makes you so unique."

So Cuthbert wanted to know him on a personal level- like friends- find out what Sam liked and disliked, who the first girl he'd kissed was, that sort of crap.

Sam grabbed the half-empty glass of water and took another drink, thinking. He really didn't want to give the magician a play-by-play of his life. Especially not right now. Sure, it might happen eventually. Might. But Sam would keep hedging as long as possible before he gave the man an oral biography of his life.

Setting the now-empty glass back on the table, Sam looked at Cuthbert curiously.

"I'm interested in knowing about you," he said, trying to sound as though he meant it, "I mean, you got kicked out of the Men of Letters and built this… magnificent mansion, but until a few days ago Dean and I had never heard of you."

And Cuthbert took the bait.

Of course! How rude of him! Sam knew almost nothing about him at all and here he was expecting the young man to confide in him!

Cuthbert started in on what Sam was sure was going to be a long- and dull- description of his life thus far.

As a child, Sinclair had been fascinated by magicians and escape artists like Harry Houdini. He told Sam that he often pretended he was the great magician himself, worrying his mother when he disappeared for hours on end.

Cuthbert's father, a Man of Letters himself, had no patience for his son's nonsense. He told his son, from a young age, that he was going to become a Man of Letters and that was the end of the discussion.

Sam somehow wasn't surprised to find that Sinclair hadn't been happy at his father's decision. He knew what it felt like to have your parent decide your future for you but said nothing to the magician.

When Cuthbert was old enough, he joined the ranks of the Men of Letters, just as his father wanted, but his heart was not in it.

"Dusty old men who believed they were doing a great service to humanity for cataloging and hiding all and any information on monsters," Cuthbert said with an insulted expression.

There was a pause as once again, a door opened and the shifter-turned-waiter entered, carrying two plates.

Cuthbert thanked the creature as it sat a fancy-looking mixed salad before him. Sam muttered something unintelligible, even to himself.

"Hunters," the magician said, spearing a piece of baby spinach on his fork and pointing the utensil at Sam for emphasis, "They do the good in this world. Out on the front lines, killing monsters. Protecting innocent civilians. I think that if I hadn't been so entranced by magic, and if I'd had a chance to meet one as a child, I'd want to be a hunter."

Sam didn't respond; he barely even nodded.

Cuthbert didn't notice and continued to prattle on.

Sam ate mechanically, not even tasting the salad.

Even as a newly recruited Man of Letters, Cuthbert did not stop his desire to become a magician. Apparently the bunker was filled with information on witchcraft and incantations and spells that tantalized the young Sinclair.

At first Cuthbert allowed himself only to read what the Men of Letters had collected on the subject of magic but it grew ever more difficult to just look and not to try and practice some himself.

Sooner rather than later, Sinclair could be found in one of the bunker's dungeons with an open book of spells and an open mind.

"The others," he said, "Of course, didn't like that one bit. Told me to stop but never gave me a reason as to why. Oh, I asked and asked what was so bad about magic? I was staying away from witchcraft- I had no intentions of selling my soul to a demon for powers- but they refused to listen to me."

"That's too bad," Sam muttered, deciding that he should probably make some comment on the subject.

Cuthbert nodded, "They did not see the use of magic. We didn't have to sit in ratty armchairs all day, making notes on what the best way to kill a Lamia was. We could be out there, helping to eradicate monsters once and for all."

"But oh no!" he continued, "Not the Men of Letters. Grunt work was beneath them, even if it meant saving hundreds of people."

Again, there was a pause in the story as the waiter took their empty salad dishes away.

"More water," Cuthbert said, indicating Sam's empty glass.

"I tried to show my colleagues how helpful magic could be," he continued, turning his attention back to Sam, "I even captured some of the creatures you've seen in my menagerie with magic I used while with the Men of Letters."

Sinclair paused and took a drink of his wine before pushing onward, "I did not know how to convince them."

Sam could barely keep his eyes open it seemed. And his head was beginning to throb. To try and remain awake- because he was sure Cuthbert would find it very rude if he were to fall asleep at the dinner table- Sam lowered his hands onto his lap and pressed his right thumb into the old scar on the palm of his left hand, the pain clearing his mind somewhat.

"But it seemed that they had had enough of my 'antics' as they called them. I was stripped of my position in the Men of Letters and exiled indefinitely."

Sam looked up, hoping that was the end of the story because God help him if he was expected to feel sorry for the man's removal from the Men of Letters.

Luckily, the young man was saved by the appearance of the waiter. The shifter was holding two soup bowls and when it set Sam's down before him the young man couldn't help but frown at the pale beige soup sitting in front of him.

"It's vichyssoise," Cuthbert explained, catching Sam's expression.

"Oh," the hunter replied, "Right."

Sam picked up his spoon and stirred the French soup for a moment. He lifted the spoon to his mouth and took an experimental taste of soup. Sam's nose wrinkled. The soup was ice cold!

He heard Cuthbert chuckle good-naturedly from beside him and looked at the man.

"It isn't traditionally served warm," the magician explained.

Sam peered down at his soup suspiciously. Cold soup? Not that Sam hadn't had it before, he had, but whenever that happened it meant that his father had checked them into a motel without a microwave and left his sons to eat room-temperature canned soup.

Sam didn't want to find out what Sinclair's reaction would be if he refused to eat so he made quick work of the vichyssoise, only half-listening as the ex-Man of Letters continued talking.

W

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, which suited Sam fine, but it seemed that Cuthbert wasn't finished with him just yet.

"Do you play chess?" the ex-Man of Letters asked Sam as the dessert dishes were cleared away by the shifter.

Sam shrugged, "I used to. In school."

Perhaps it would satisfy his captor to have little bits of information fed to him instead of making Sam sit and regurgitate his entire life history in one evening.

Cuthbert smiled, apparently pleased.

"I have a board in the library," he told Sam, taking his napkin out from the collar of his shirt and laying it on the table, "It's been a very long time since I've had anyone to play with."

Sam had no choice but to follow the man. Shedding his own serviette, he stood, hoping that Cuthbert wouldn't teleport them to the library.

It seemed that Sam's wish was granted as Cuthbert pushed his chair in and made his way to another doorway that led out into a hallway Sam had never seen before.

The young man followed the magician tiredly, wanting only to be left alone.

"Where you a member of a Chess Club?" Cuthbert asked Sam and the hunter nodded distractedly.

"For a little while, in this one school I was in," Sam replied, looking at the oil paintings lining the walls of the corridor.

"But otherwise you haven't played?" Cuthbert pressed and Sam shook his head.

When would he have had the time? Even in Stanford, he was focused mostly on getting good grades, on finding a job that didn't involve hunting monstrosities for the rest of his life.

"I tried to teach the shifter to play," Cuthbert said, "But it was useless. Didn't understand the game at all. Not its fault, though, really. The gentleman it took the form of was more of a card player."

Sam nodded, not even looking at the man.

"Ah! Here we are," the magician announced and stopped before a set of carved wooden double doors.

Cuthbert took hold of the brass handles and threw open the doors with a flourish; he was obviously very proud of his library.

Sam looked up and gaped- he couldn't help it- the library was huge! It had vaulted ceilings and was almost the length of two professional football fields laid side-by-side.

And the books. There had to be thousands!

Sam might not have liked the man but that didn't mean he couldn't' be impressed with his book collection.

There were leather chairs and sofas as well, coffee tables and two large marble fireplaces in the library as well.

Sam quickly regained his composure and followed Cuthbert inside, but not before he caught sight of the man's smirk.

So he had see Sam's open-mouthed astonishment, so what? The man had more books than the hunter could read in a lifetime but that still didn't make Sam like him.

Cuthbert sat down in a dark blue leather chair and pulled a low coffee table towards him where an ornate chessboard sat. Sam sat across from the man and peered curiously at the board. Carved from two different types of wood- one so pale it was nearly white and one a deep red colour like mahogany- the pieces were chiseled from stone to match the board. Purely white and deep red kings, queens, knaves and rooks sat poised for battle.

Cuthbert turned the board around so that Sam had control of the white pieces and he, the red.

"Seeing as you haven't played in ages," the man explained, "I'll let you have the advantage of the first move."

SPN

Dean was going out of his mind!

He hadn't heard anything for Crowley despite sending him dozens and dozens of messages, so many, in fact that now when Dean tried to call, the demon's voice mail was full.

Crowley was remaining silent, Dean had no clues as to what Abaddon's next move was going to be and Cas was keeping his distance.

The hunter did not know what to do!

He wanted to punch something, someone.

Standing up, Dean raked a hand through his short-cropped hair. He bent down and plucked the empty whisky bottle- he didn't even remember finishing it- from the table and threw it across the room in his anger.

"Where are you?!" Dean snarled, "TELL ME!"

The only sound that greeted him was the tinkle of broken glass and the rasp of his own labored breathing.

Falling back into his seat, Dean fisted his hands and pressed his knuckles into his eyes.

He couldn't believe this was happening. Not now. Not when he was so close to killing Abaddon.

Standing abruptly, Dean paced in front of the table, his eyes glued on the floor ahead of him.

It was about time to take matters into his own hands. If Crowley was going to ignore him, then Dean would go out and find the Knight of Hell himself.

He couldn't keep sitting around the bunker, waiting on the demon's call. He needed to do something; he needed to be looking.

If he did that, maybe he'd find the bitch soon and he'd be able to gank her.

And then get Sam.

But first Abaddon. That took priority over everything else. Dean couldn't even start to plan getting his brother back until he knew the demon was good and dead.

Swiping his leather jacket from the back of his chair, Dean made his way across the room, up the steps and out into the cool night air, slamming the door to the bunker after himself.


	5. Chapter Five

Sam closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. He was sure Sinclair wouldn't find him for a while.

He didn't know how long he had been in the magician's mansion, there was nothing to measure the passing of days, but he guessed it didn't really matter. He wasn't leaving until- if- Dean came back for him.

Pretending to be the ex-Man of Letter's friend had become very dull very fast. Sam was sure it irritated Cuthbert to no end that he didn't even attempt to act like they were buddies but thankfully the magician shrugged it off, probably telling himself that eventually Sam would warm up to him.

Sam had discovered that he rarely was given a moment of privacy, a moment to himself. Sinclair seemed so starved of companionship that he'd appear in Sam's room whenever the mood struck, demanding that the young man join him for a meal or in the library or play a game of chess.

And of course, Sam had no choice. He was worried that the magician would hurt him if he downright refused.

But Sam had figured out something that always gave him a short reprieve. If he wasn't at Cuthbert's side, he could disappear for a few hours- by Sam's estimation- and enjoy some time for himself. Sam had become an expert at finding places to hide in the mansion. He was sure that Cuthbert knew all the little niches- he had built the manse himself- but the magician allowed him to escape, if only for a little while and had turned it into a strange game of Hide-And-Seek.

Sam would take the time to try and get some sleep- Cuthbert had a habit of wanting to talk long into the wee hours of the morning- or just think.

The hunter's current hiding place was an old wooden wardrobe. He sat in the very back of the large piece of furniture, knees drawn up to his chest, the moth-eaten fur coats inside creating a curtain between himself and the wardrobe's double-doors.

Leaning his head back, Sam breathed in the scent of cedar chips and ancient wood and tried to get some much-needed rest.

No matter how hard he fought, the memories Sinclair had unearthed refused to be put away. Sam found that he was able to brush them aside during the day but at night… and if he was overly tired as well… that's when they reared their ugly head and descended upon him.

W

"Sam!"

The young man's eyes opened slowly and he groaned.

He couldn't have been asleep five minutes!

Why couldn't the man leave him alone? It was clear that Sam didn't want anything to do with him!

But Cuthbert was nothing if not persistent.

"Sam!"

Maybe he'll go away, Sam thought, if I don't come out.

"SAM!"

The tone sounded less conciliatory and more irritated now.

How long had he been hiding for anyway?

Clearly long enough for the magician to have stopped being amused by the game.

Sighing heavily, Sam pushed the doors of the wardrobe open and climbed out.

The room he was in was empty but for the wardrobe- Cuthbert hadn't found his hiding place yet- and clearly hadn't be in use for a long time. Dust coated the wooden floors and cobwebs adorned the corners.

Sam made his way across the room and opened the door. Sinclair was down the hall, his back to Sam.

"Sam!"

The young man cringed slightly and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Hearing the noise come from behind, the magician turned around and glared at Sam.

"Where were you?" he asked suspiciously, "Didn't you hear me?"

"Sorry I didn't come at your beck and call," Sam muttered.

Cuthbert narrowed his eyes; a vein throbbed in his temple. He clearly wasn't in the mood for Sam's passive-aggressive comments.

The magician stalked forward, "I've tried, Sam. Really I have. But your continued obstinance is wearisome. Believe me when I tell say that I did not wish to hurt you. But you forced my hand. I only wanted a friend- an equal- and companion with whom I could share my home and love of knowledge. Instead, you chose to see me as an enemy. You disappoint me, Sam Winchester."

As Sinclair spoke, the hunter backed away, uncertain of what the man was going to do.

"I can't," Sam ground out, "As much as you'd like, I can't pretend that we're best buddies. But you've got to understand what I've gone through-"

Cuthbert interrupted, "How you came here does not matter. I asked you for so little and you seem unwilling to do that."

Sinclair didn't get it. All he cared about was the fact that Sam didn't want to play along with him. He thought that the hunter should do what he said simply because Dean had traded Sam for the First Blade, essentially giving his brother to the magician.

Cuthbert continued to move forward and Sam continued to back away from him.

"You're not going to make me change my mind," the young man told him, "I'm never going to be your friend, whatever you do to me."

"I know," Sinclair said softly.

Sam startled when his back hit a wall. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the hallway had stopped abruptly. Just as Sinclair could make doorways disappear, he could erect wall where none were before.

"Get away from me!" Sam snapped, fisted hands raised, "Don't touch me!"

The magician's dark eyes were sad as he stopped in front of Sam.

The hunter was fast but Cuthbert was faster. The man reached up and touched Sam's brow.

SPN

Cuthbert watched for a long moment as Sam writhed on the floor, engulfed in memories of Hell.

He had hoped that Sam would be different. He had hoped that the young man would come around and accept that he was to remain here.

He had not been cruel to the hunter, had he? He had given him a comfortable room and good food and exceptional company.

Why did Sam still refuse him?

He knew that the young man would sting for a while from what his brother had done but certainly he'd come to realize that Dean's actions were for the best.

As the elder Winchester had said, the lives of the billions of people outweighed the life of one person: Sam.

And knowing the kind of man the younger Winchester was, willing to sacrifice himself- spend eternity in Hell- for the lives of those seven billion, surely he could see the sense in this?

Alas, it was not to be so, it seemed.

Cuthbert sighed and reached down to the young man, touching one shaking shoulder and transporting them both away from the hallway.

SPN

Dean wanted to kill the angel right then and there.

Oh, it was so tempting. The bastard who had killed Kevin tied up and defenseless. It would be too easy to shove an angel blade through the son of a bitch's heart.

But Dean held back- just barely- only because Metatron was sure to notice if his Number One Lackey failed to show up for work in the morning.

Instead, Dean hauled back and punched Gadreel in the face, his fist connecting satisfyingly with the fallen angel's nose.

Blood gushed down the creature's face but that didn't seem to bother it too much.

"You're just going to leave me here?" Gadreel asked Dean as the hunter turned his back.

"Be grateful that's all I'm doing to you."

The eldest Winchester left before he lost his control and beat the shit out of the angel. He returned to the Impala and headed back to the Men of Letter's bunker, frustrated that he had received no clue as to where Abaddon was when Metatron seemed to be actively messing with Cas and the other angels.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes, his head spinning and his blood pounding in his ears.

He could hear something- it sounded like voices- but he was sure that wasn't right. The only one here besides him was Cuthbert and the voices were too many to come from a single man.

Groaning, Sam pulled himself up on his elbows, still feeling weak and shaky. He raised a hand and brushed his bangs back from his sweaty brow and wiped at his tear-streaked face.

Sam blinked and gaped in shock at the sight that greeted him.

Bars- like those of a jail cell- stood just a few feet away from him and beyond that, people.

Sam's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He stared at the people- men, woman and children- gawking at him. Closing his eyes for a moment, Sam took a deep breath and opened them again.

The spectators were still there. Sitting up, the young man glanced over to his side. What was going on?

The people were standing on a sidewalk made of asphalt that wound past the cell (cage?) Sam was in. There were other cages too, ones that looked oddly familiar. The whole setup looked strangely familiar to Sam but he couldn't figure out why.

Suddenly it clicked. A zoo. Sam was in a zoo! But how? Surely no one would put a person- a human- in a cage and put him on display for entertainment.

Sam glanced at his surroundings, trying to figure out what the hell was happening when everything abruptly made sense.

Cuthbert's monologue about how disappointed he was in Sam, about how he knew they would never become friends.

Sam was in Sinclair's personal menagerie.

But this… Sam didn't recall seeing people staring at the creatures alongside him when he had explored the room. There had only been the rows and rows of cages, the rest of the room austere.

That's because I was on the other side of the glass, Sam thought and felt sick to his stomach.

A familiar face in the crowd caught the young man's attention and he glared at Sinclair.

"What the fuck is this?" Sam snarled, "Do you think this is funny? Let me out of here! Now!"

The magician shook his head.

"I gave you a chance, Sam… many chances, actually, and you decided to repay my generosity with indifference and anger."

So, no, Sam wasn't going to be let out.

"I thought you said I was a guest," the young man reminded Sinclair.

"That requires a reciprocal relationship which includes respect from both parties," Cuthbert told him, "Which you failed to display."

Sam didn't know what else he could say. It was clear the magician had made up his mind and nothing Sam said would change it.

"Perhaps we can try again," Cuthbert said, "In time."

The magician turned around and began walking away.

"Hey! You can't leave me like this! Come back! Come back!"

But Sinclair was already gone.

W

There was a plaque in front of Sam's cage, similar to the ones zoos had that held information on their animals. The young man wondered what his said.

The Boy With Demon Blood, maybe, or, Lucifer's Vessel.

Sam turned away from the crowd of people who seemed to be ogling him. His cage, unlike the ones of the supernatural creatures Sinclair kept, was bare. No attempt had been made on the magician's part to replicate Sam's 'habitat'. The ground was concrete, while the bars covered the entirety of the cage from roof to all four sides. There was a small opening wide and about four inches high near on one side of the cage. At the back there was a door- with bars just like the walls- but it was padlocked shut.

The spell that created this vision was thorough. The sky above Sam's cage was a deep blue and cloudless. The sun shone strongly down on the young man and Sam could actually feel its warmth. A mild breeze blew in from somewhere, carrying with it the sounds and smells common at zoos.

Laughing, shouting, talking of patrons and the honks, squeaks, hisses of the fantastic creatures met Sam's ears.

Hot pavement, fried food, and manure scents wafted in the air.

Sam closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears.

They aren't real, he thought, this isn't real. It's just some sick spell. Ignore them.

The young man heard groans of disappointment from the crowd of onlookers, clearly upset that he was showing his back to them, and smiled grimly.

He wasn't going to let Sinclair's stupid spell get the better of him. He knew this was all some hallucination.

Cuthbert wasn't going to win.


	6. Chapter Six

Even though he knew the people weren't real, that they were just part of the spell Sinclair had placed on the cage, Sam found himself hating them.

They stared at him like he was some kind of strange, exotic animal. Like he was a freak.

Women wearing visors and fanny packs, men in khakis and polo shirts and kids. There seemed to be a plethora of kids gawking at him, eyes wide and mouth smiling around ice cream-smeared lips.

The magician himself never came to see Sam. He sent his shapeshifter to bring Sam food but apparently was prepared to hold his grudge.

Sam wondered if Dean was ever coming back for him. He'd said he would and he had looked sincere as he'd promised it but Sam wasn't so sure.

Dean had been acting strange ever since he'd received the Mark of Cain and not only that, if he did find Abaddon and try to destroy her but… what if he died? What if the Knight of Hell killed Dean? Sam would never know.

"No," the young man muttered to himself, "Dean's okay. He'll kill Abaddon and come back for me. Just like he said he would."

Even though Sam only half-believed it, he felt like the only way to remain sane was to tell himself that Dean hadn't forgotten about him, that Dean wasn't dead and that he was on his way to rescue him.

SPN

Dean pressed the gas pedal almost to the floor as he drove back to Lebanon, Kansas.

He'd still had had no contact with Crowley and Abaddon was nowhere to be found- believe Dean, he'd looked- so when Sheriff Mills had called asking for help taking care of some vampires, the hunter had jumped at the chance. Jody had been expecting both Winchesters, so when Dean had shown up alone he'd had to think of a lie in order to explain Sam's absence. And although Sheriff Mills had been skeptical at first, she didn't question Dean's story.

But now the monsters were dead, a girl was safe and Dean's thoughts once again turned to the Knight of Hell.

He needed to find Abaddon. And soon.

The need to kill her was growing like a pressure gauge and Dean knew that it would burst if he did not act.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened and blood began to pound in his ears.

SPN

Sam tried to ignore the gawkers enough to get some sleep. He was exhausted. His eyes itched with fatigue and his head was aching.

He looked over his shoulder as the shapeshifter slid a plate of food through the horizontal opening at the front of the cage. The creature looked up and Sam could have sworn there was pity in its eyes.

The hunter turned away. He didn't want to eat. And he certainly didn't need anyone- anything- to feel sorry for him. He wanted to sleep.

"Please make them go away," Sam muttered to no one but himself.

W

There was no night. Darkness never fell.

And Sam didn't sleep.

He rubbed at his forehead tiredly.

Was Cuthbert trying to torture him into saying 'uncle'?

Sam moved to the very back of the cage and laid down, draping his arm across his eyes.

The magician wasn't going to win. Even if he was locked in here for a hundred years, Sinclair was not going to get the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to Sam.

SPN

Chicago, Illinois.

Dean wished he had his brother by his side as he examined the crime scene in front of an upscale-looking restaurant.

A monster- a shapeshifter, to be exact- had been killed just outside on the sidewalk.

As well as a civilian.

But it wasn't the girl who had Dean interested. Sure, it was a damn shame that she had met her end out here- blunt force trauma to the head, according to the coroner- but the shifter.

It looked as though Freddy Krueger had taken to killing his fellow monsters.

And there was also the mess in the back room of the restaurant where the body count increased, the majority of the victims being monsters.

Besides the poor girl, Dean didn't see why this should be his problem. From what he could tell, it seemed as if someone had decided to clean up the city and was doing a pretty damn good job at it. Except for the fact that the guy was sloppy as hell.

Sighing, Dean decided that the least he could do was find the guy with the Krueger claws and talk him into being more careful.

SPN

He's not coming.

He's forgotten all about me.

He cares more about that goddamn First Blade than he does me.

He's going to kill Abaddon but that'll be it.

He's not coming.

Sam couldn't stop the thoughts from circling around and around in his head.

He could barely keep his eyes open but when he did manage to get a moment's rest, nightmares or the magician's fucking spectators woke him.

Sam couldn't take it anymore.

He lunged at the bars of the cage, snarling at the fake zoo-goers.

"Piss off! Get the hell out of here! Leave me alone!"

Kids scattered, screaming; women jumped and stepped back a distance; men reluctantly turned away.

He glanced up when he saw the shapeshifter.

"What did you do to get out of your cage?" Sam asked the creature.

The shifter shrugged, "I'm the closest thing to a human Sinclair has. Besides you."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the shifter but didn't rise to the bait- if that's what it was. He shoved the uneaten plate of food out the opening in the cage and the shapeshifter picked it up.

"Mr. Sinclair won't be pleased," the creature commented.

Sam didn't really care if Cuthbert was happy or not.

He watched silently as the shifter walked away and the looky-loos returned.

SPN

Dean ignored the posted speed limit just as he ignored Crowley's warning.

Poughkeepsie. Yeah, like Dean was going to drop everything and run.

Not when Abaddon was in his sights.

Dean glanced at the passenger's side seat where the First Blade sat, beckoning him to use it: to cut, to stab, to shed blood, to destroy.

The bitch wasn't going to know what hit her.

W

Dean's chest heaved as he stood over Abaddon's prone form, his knuckles white around the handle of the First Blade.

"Congratulations," Crowley piped up from where he sat, slumping slightly in his chair, gripping his arm painfully, "Now let's get out of here."

Dean's head snapped up and Crowley blanched. The hunter stepped forward, still holding the First Blade, the jawbone dripping blood.

"Uh… I mean, can we leave now?" the demon revised, asking a question instead of demanding.

Dean reached Crowley's chair and reached out with his free hand, grabbed the front of his black dress shirt and pulling him to his feet.

"Ah! Watch the arm!"

Dean shoved his face inches away from Crowley's.

"We're going to get Sam. Now."

The demon opened his mouth, "Now?"

Dean pushed Crowley and he stumbled.

"Okay! Okay," the demon grumbled, "We'll go fetch Moose."

SPN

Sam was going to go insane. He was sure of it. He could feel it happening.

Just like before when he had Lucifer trailing along with him everywhere he went.

Sam could feel his grip slipping, just like before.

Which was odd, wasn't it? He knew he was going crazy.

He knew his sanity was dissolving like salt into water.

Or maybe he was just tired.

That was probably what was wrong.

SPN

Sinclair paced around his sitting room, glass of brandy in his hand.

Sam was not eating, not sleeping. The shifter had told him so.

Perhaps the magician should let the young man out.

No, Sam Winchester needed to learn he could not act in such a disrespectful manner. He needed to be punished for his behaviour.

Sinclair could not fold now just because Sam Winchester was insolent.

SPN

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in the clearing where Cuthbert's hidden mansion was.

"Wait here," Dean ordered and got out of the car.

Crowley watched as he strode across the clearing, First Blade clutched in his hand and blinked out of sight. He wasn't stupid. There was no way he was hanging around for Dean to come back and kill him once he had his brother in tow.

W

Dean took a deep breath and prepared himself to enter the invisible abode of the magician the same way as before. For a moment he didn't think it would work but when he opened his eyes he was standing in the foyer of the dwelling.

"Sam!" Dean called out, "Sammy! Where are you?"

All was silent.

"Hey! Anyone home?" Dean shouted, eyes darting suspiciously around the hallway.

"Dean," a familiar voice said- not Sam's- and the older brother turned to see Cuthbert Sinclair smiling at him.

"Where's Sam?" he asked without formality.

"He's here-" the magician said and was about to speak again when Dean interrupted.

"Tell him I'm taking him home."

"-But he doesn't want to see you," Cuthbert finished.

"Bullshit," Dean growled, "Take me to him, right now."

"No," Sinclair replied.

"No?" Dean asked, stepping forward.

"We made a trade," the magician said, "And it's very rude to go back on a trade."

"I don't care! Give me my brother!" Dean snarled.

Cuthbert only smiled, "Sam is mine."

The hunter rushed forward, hands tight around the handle of the First Blade. He raised the weapon and lashed out.

Blood spurted from the stump of Cuthbert's neck, his head falling to the floor. The magician's body followed his head, collapsing in a heap on the carpet.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and stepped over the magician's body like it was so much trash.

"SAMMY! SAM! SA-" Dean paused when he saw movement at the end of the hallway and an elderly man wearing a suit stepped from a doorway.

The man- if he in fact was a man- raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

"Is he dead?" he asked in a thin, reedy voice.

For a moment Dean only stared, trying to decide if the man was a threat.

"What?" he asked finally.

"The magician- Sinclair- is he dead?"

Dean nodded.

"Do you know where Sam is?" he asked the man.

"I do."

"Take me to him."

The man turned, peered over his shoulder at Dean and beckoned him with a hand; "Follow me."

The hunter walked close behind the butler? waiter? as he headed down the hallway. The man stopped at a door and opened it, revealing a staircase leading down.

The man gestured Dean forward. The young man frowned when a cloud of hot, smelly air hit him.

"The hell is down there?" Dean muttered, speaking mostly to himself but the man answered.

"Sinclair collects- collected- many things," he said in a quiet voice, "Extraordinary creatures included."

Dean's eyes widened and he clutched the Blade so tight he was afraid it would crack.

"Sam's down there?"

The man said nothing.

Without waiting another second, Dean rushed down the stairs.

"Sam! Sammy!" he called as he barreled downward, heart pounding in his chest.

He stopped when he reached the bottom of the stairs and stared at the cages surrounding him.

"This way," the man said, startling Dean.

He hadn't noticed the waiter had followed him down.

"What the fuck is all this?" Dean muttered but he barely noticed the creatures inside the cages as he passed them, intent only on getting to his brother.

"Sam!" Dean said as they stopped at the last cage.

Dean's brother was sitting with his back to him. The bar of the cage and its cement floor made Dean think of a jail cell.

"Sammy," Dean said more softly and his brother looked over his shoulder at him.

Dean's brother said nothing. He just stared at Dean.

"What happened to you?"

Sam looked awful. His face was pale and unshaven. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

The younger man did not say anything.

"I'm going to get you out, Sammy," Dean assured him.

He saw the door at the back of the cage and headed towards it; he was slightly surprised to find it padlocked shut.

"The man's a magician and he uses a friggin' padlock?" Dean muttered to himself.

"I am certain that Mr. Sinclair has a key," the waiter said but Dean ignored him, pulling his lock-pick kit from his jacket pocket.

Dean dropped the First Blade and worked at the padlock, murmuring to his brother all the while.

"It's okay, Sammy," he said, "I'll get you out in a minute."

Sam didn't reply, he just stared at Dean.

Triumphantly, the older brother flung the door to the cage open, grabbed the First Blade and stepped inside.

"C'mon Sammy, let's get out of here," Dean reached down and grabbed his brother by his upper arm and pulled him up.

Dean tugged his brother towards the stairs, focused only on getting the hell out of this fun house.

"Sam?" he asked and shook his brother's arm, "Snap out of it!"

Sam blinked, his eyes glazed and Dean paused.

"Sam? Hey!" Dean gazed at his brother before he looked around.

"You!" he caught sight of the old waiter or whatever he was, "What's wrong with him?"

"He has not eaten or slept in a long time," the man explained.

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment but then he nodded. He turned around and continued on his way.

W

Dean stepped past the magician's body, eyeing his brother worriedly. He hoped that old man was right and that Sam would come out of the trance soon.

He reached the end of the hallway where he had appeared and tightened his hold on his brother's arm.

"Let's hope this works," he muttered.

SPN

Sam blinked tiredly and realized he was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala.

He raised a hand and rubbed his forehead.

"You feeling okay?" Dean asked.

Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"What? No 'thanks for rescuing me'?" Dean smirked.

Sam said nothing.

He left me. He left me there. He gave me to Sinclair.

"Fine," Dean muttered, "Don't say anything."

Sam closed his eyes.

W

"Sam," Dean's voice said, "Wakey-Wakey, Eggs n' Bakey!"

The younger brother's eyes slid open and he all but glared at Dean.

"We're home," Dean grinned.

Sam climbed out of the passenger seat and headed into the bunker.

"Hey!" Dean called as he followed his brother inside.

"What?" Sam asked, "What do you want?"

Dean paused.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked Sam, frowning.

"You want to know what's the matter, Dean? Really?" Sam snarled. He couldn't believe Dean didn't realize what he'd done wrong.

"You sold me, Dean! That's what! You sold me for the First Blade!" Sam shouted, standing at the bottom of the staircase.

"Sinclair wouldn't have given the Blade to me!" Dean argued, "What was I supposed to do?!"

"Anything else, Dean!" Sam replied.

"Oh come off it, Sam," Dean said, "I told you I'd come back."

"That's not the point!"

Dean began heading down the stairs, hands clenched into fists.

"I was doing it for you, Sam! To keep you safe! If Abaddon had gotten you-"

Dean was stopped from speaking when Sam interrupted, "I don't care about Abaddon, Dean!"

"She would have killed you without a second thought, Sam," Dean growled, forcing himself to calm down.

The younger brother shook his head.

"You don't understand, do you?"

Dean frowned, "Understand what? What happened?"

Sam didn't answer.

He put me in a cage, Dean. He made me remember Hell.

"I'm done," Sam finally said.

"Huh?" Dean asked, "Done? Sam, I was trying to protect you. I was trying to keep you safe."

"Something's wrong with you," Sam replied.

"Sam! Sam!" Dean shouted as his brother turned and headed deeper into the bunker.

Sam headed down the hallway towards his room. He opened the door and grabbed his duffel bag, shoving his meager possessions into it.

"Sam," Dean stood in the doorway, "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"All you care about is that you did your good deed for the day," Sam said quietly, "You don't really care what happened to me, do you?"

"Sam, don't go," Dean begged and grabbed Sam's arm as he made to leave the room.

"Let me go," the younger brother pulled his arm from Dean's grip and glared at him.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean called as Sam headed down the hallway.

"Talk to me!" Dean demanded but Sam ignored him.

SPN

"Damn it," Dean swore when he heard the door to the bunker slammed shut with a resounding clang.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Something was wrong with him.

Dean knew he should be more concerned about Sam. He should be worried about what had happened to his brother but something wasn't letting him. All he could think about was the fact that he had done what he'd said, that his brother was safe, that Sam was with him once again.

But no, now he wasn't.

Sam was leaving.

Dean couldn't let him leave.

Hurrying up the stairs, Dean swore silently and threw open the door.

"SAM!" he shouted and caught sight of his brother.

Sam was sitting on the gravel driveway in front of the bunker, his duffel bag beside him.

"Sam? Sammy?"

Dean approached slowly. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

So what if he'd saved his brother?

He should never have left Sam alone with Sinclair.

The son of a bitch had put Sam in a cage.

"Sammy? Hey," Dean murmured and his brother looked over his shoulder at him.

His sibling's eyes were red and wet.

"I… I'm tired Dean…" Sam muttered, "I'm just so tired…"

Dean stepped forward.

"Your bed's a lot more comfortable than the ground," he replied, smiling but then frowned.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized, serious now, "Whatever that asshole did to you… I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking…. Or, I was… but not about you… not really."

Sam didn't say anything but looked away from Dean.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean said, "I'll help you inside, okay?"

Sam allowed Dean to grab his duffel bag and take his arm, helping him to his feet once more.

"You look like death warmed over," Dean said, "Why don't you get some rest. We can talk about everything once you wake up."

Dean had fucked up. He knew it. And although he may not be able to make things completely right with his brother, he could at least listen to what Sam had to say.

Because this wasn't just about him.

"Dean," Sam muttered, his voice sounding as weary as he looked, "Say that again."

Dean raised an eyebrow as he opened the door to the bunker.

"You're sorry," Sam answered, "Please."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

Dean carefully guided his brother around the tables in the main area and down the hallway towards his room.

"Dean… he…"

The older brother shook his head, "Wait until you get some sleep. I promise I'll listen."

Sam nodded and Dean tossed his brother's duffel bag into a corner of the bedroom.

The younger man sat down on his bed and listed to one side, eyes closed before his head even hit the pillow.

Dean smiled softly.

He grabbed the blanket at the end of the bed and draped it over Sam, tucking it around his chin.

Before drawing his hand away, Dean brushed his sibling's bangs from his brow.

"It's going to be okay, Sammy," Dean whispered, "I'm going to make everything okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title shares the same name as a 2009 horror/thriller film and a 1963 John Fowles novel.  
> The idea for this fanfic came after I watched "Blade Runners".


End file.
